The Devil Went Down to Texas
by Flint and Feather
Summary: A mission fic taking place some years before the second coming of Rasputin. Prof. Bruttenholm lives. Hellboy, Abe Sapien and BPRD regulars are joined by local wheels, boots & paws on the ground in The Pineywoods of east Texas, where they take on hordes of feral hogs possessed by The Fallen One. Written to action, angst, humor and friendship. Rated M for language. Please R&R!
1. Trophy Son

**Disclaimer:** Hellboy, Abe Sapien and the B.P.R.D. are owned by Mike Mignola and Dark Horse for the comics and by Guillermo del Toro and Revolution Studios for the movies.

"Blue! Wake up! Wake up, Brother!"

Abe Sapien felt the voice vibration skimming over the water surface of his sleeping tank. Apart from the alarm and blue flashing signal which summoned him to emergencies, Abe would without fail, respond to Hellboy's direct intercom. He blinked, stretched his limbs and launched in the straightest line toward Red's anxious voice, to key the microphone.

"Red, you sound alarmed," he began.

"Can you get over here, now? Just you? And be quiet!"

"Yes, Red, right away!" Abe answered, beginning to exit his tank. He snapped on his breathing apparatus and hurried out of the library, padding with all haste to Red's quarters. When Abe reached the slightly ajar vault door, Hellboy's impatient left hand shot through the space to grab the merman's shoulder and haul him inside. Regaining balance against the wall, Abe looked left, right, down, in the absence of light.

"Red! Where have you gone?"

"Bathroom," came Hellboy's subdued voice. "Sorry if I was rough."

Taking this as invitation to approach, Abe gently pushed open the door and entered the fully lit room. He found his half-demon friend leaning straight-armed on the edges of the sink, forehead pressed to the mirror, his powerful shoulders in a defeated hunch.

"Look at the floor, Blue," rasped Hellboy, not moving.

Abe felt the searing emotional pain emanating from his stricken friend. He knelt by the objects – a tall pair of curved and pointed hell-forged horns, the thick bases ripped to ragged shards. The merman gasped and rose to his feet.

"Red, please," he entreated, "Come out. Sit. Tell me..."

Hellboy reluctantly raised his head and turned to face his friend.

"I – I felt so dirty, Blue," he started, his features struggling for control. "I came in here to turn on the shower. Do you know how hard I hit the top of the door frame with these things on my head?" Hellboy almost laughed. "I tore the suckers off. They aren't mine! They're gone, but they aren't gone! You know?!"

"Please calm down, Red," soothed Abe, guiding him toward a couch. Turning on lights, Abe then seated himself opposite, the better to study his friend. No doubt that Red had used his enormous strength to savage himself. It pained Abe to see the several inches of raw-edged stumps marring Hellboy's head. And what did this portend?

"From the beginning, Red," Abe directed, fully attentive.

It seemed Hellboy had returned to himself. Sitting back, he gave Abe a nod of appreciation.

"I thought I was asleep – but I kept getting a voice in my head, saying 'favourite son', over and over. It had nothing to do with Pop. It wanted me to answer this – 'your true name'. Just like the night before, I told it to piss off."

"The night before?" Abe pressed.

"It stopped. But tonight, it came back stronger. It was saying, 'bring home the Right Hand of Doom.' After I got sick of hearing that, it grabbed me. I couldn't move. It forced my horns to grow all the way before its power sapped out. Then it left me. The rest, you know."

Abe pressed his fingertips to his forehead, saddened for Red. "The professor must be told."

"Don't"-

"You and I have suspicions, but Professor Bruttenholm will know more. Our resources are here for you, Red. You must let us help."

Hellboy sagged, knowing he couldn't go on this way alone.

"I will read the horns," Abe offered.

"Not yet!"

"They may be inert material," suggested the merman.

"And maybe not. For now, they get locked in a lead box. I'll get rid of these," Hellboy said, sweeping his hand across his brow, "and try to catch some z's. Thanks, Brother."

"And Brother," Abe picked up, "Whether or not you sleep, I choose to stay here. If anything adverse should approach, I will feel it."

Hellboy stared for a moment. "I could become something that would hurt you – things being the way they are," he protested.

"Have faith," Abe counselled. "I would feel that, too, and make no mistake, I'm very swift."

On his way to grind down his horns, Hellboy no longer felt fated to isolation.

"Riiiight!"

Telling the professor was as difficult as Hellboy had anticipated, especially after he'd greeted Abe and him with a mischievous smile, saying, "My dear boys, how very tired you look this morning. What have you been up to?"

It hurt Hellboy to erase that smile with the account of his harrowing night, hurt to see his father's eyes struck with tragic fear.

Kneeling by his chair, Hellboy embraced his aged father, whispering at his temple, "Pop, what can we do? What if I become too dangerous to live here with you and – everyone?"

Professor Bruttenholm calmed himself with difficulty. What answer could he give?

"Son," he began, grasping the uneasy red hands, "I've prayed for more than fifty years that such a day would never come. We've called him the Dark Prince, the Fallen One." Having spoken the dire names, Bruttenholm's voice broke as he struggled on, "but I've thought of him over the years in varied lights, and even given thanks." He drew a deep breath. "However he gave you life, a kinder fate brought you to me – beloved son."

Hellboy slowly raised his head to look into his father's moist eyes. Bruttenholm made a concerted effort to banish his tone of deep sadness. "I know of no one else with such strength as yours," he encouraged. "I've seen you win through many tests, and now have confounded him and beaten him back – and you will again!"

Hellboy kindly regarded his father, his slight smile thanking him for his declaration of faith and pride.

"And so we've decided, Professor," Abe cut in gently.

"Abe will be with me, upcoming mission," explained Hellboy. "Keep me straight, will you, Brother? If my head gets too big, knock me down."

"I will certainly do my best," promised the merman.

"That is – you leave two days from now," confirmed the professor.

"More tests from the Dark Prince?" Hellboy mused. "I guess we'll find out if he follows me to Texas."


	2. The Pineywoods

Agent Garcia spread his briefing reports on the table and pushed a copy in front of each BPRD member.

"We arrive in about an hour, going to move into the Bass Lodge at Daingerfield State Park. Our contact is the park manager, Cord Phillips. He's set up rooms on the ground floor for Red and Abe with private access to our vehicles and helipad behind the lodge. We've provided for Abe's special diet and for Red's – geez! The carbs!"

Hellboy threw him a good-natured sneer.

"The rest of us live like regular guests," Garcia continued, "only there won't be anyone but us. Pilots Rick and Lon are responsible for vehicle readiness – and kitchen duties! We're meeting with Phillips, the Daingerfield sheriff and a third gent by the name of Brett Walker who's a consultant for Texas Parks & Wildlife, plus being a professional wild hog hunter."

"What about us?" asked Hellboy.

"You'll see and hear the meeting, remotely in your rooms. Serious, Red," Garcia leaned in. "No exposure! The citizens here tend to be really conservative, you get me?"

"You're saying, someone like me is their worst nightmare?"

Agent Carter cut in, "Red, you'll be in a better mood when we land and get a change of scenery."

The landing couldn't come soon enough. Hellboy and Abe watched as their six colleagues climbed the steps to a long deck where a lanky man leaned back in his chair with his legs stretched out, boots resting on the top rail. Phillips got up slowly, looking over the helicopter with an appraising eye. Facing the agents, he shook their hands in turn.

"Cord Phillips. You'll need eight key cards. Got 'em here. You got ID to show me?"

Satisfied, he handed over the cards. "Now, you have two more on your team," he deadpanned, "who are gonna hide out the whole time?"

"It's necessary," Bell explained earnestly, "Trust us. They're the best and we never work tough missions without them."

"Got names?" Phillips asked, his eyes a bit mocking.

"Red. And Blue."

Phillips began to saunter toward the corner of the wrap-around deck. "This is how you get in around to the front," he threw over his shoulder. "Settle in and get yourselves to the reception hall."

Bell unlocked two lodge doors before Abe and Hellboy proceeded out of the helicopter, covered in hooded cloaks.

"It must be 95 degrees," Hellboy grumbled.

Abe hurried into his room. "My tank!" he exclaimed with relief, throwing down his cloak and climbing in to submerge.

Hellboy stood in the adjoining doorway. "Looks like a triple-decker coffin. Enjoy."

"Okay, Red", said Garcia. "Here's your hook-up. Big screen. See ya later."

"Abe, showtime," Hellboy called out. "Pull up a chair."

They watched their six colleagues assembled around a conference table, along with Phillips and two newcomers.

"Brett Walker, biologist, hunter," was one's terse introduction. The other removed his uniform stetson to slick back his sweaty hair. "Sheriff Austin Connor."

"These", said Phillips, "are the special agents from New Jersey."

Connor was up front hostile. "What the hell do yanks from New Jersey know about our problem?!"

Brett Walker snickered, "They're fixin' to learn."

Stabbing the table with his finger, Connor yowled, "You ain't gonna be no match for thousands of the most evil sons of bitches that ever walked the earth! A month solid, we been shootin' them down, and they keep comin'. I coulda showed you the hog-raddled bodies of 28 National Guardsmen!"

Waiting for the sheriff to run down, Walker drawled, "Austin, you didn't fire shot one. Your six man force is too small to get involved." Walker addressed the agents. "Normal wild hogs, as wolverine mean as they are, don't form up in organized hundreds and run at us, bent on the kill. These don't look any different and we wouldn't want them any smarter than they are as natural, but it seems like this is the case."

"Whatever's got into them is straight from hell! What did you bring that's so special?" challenged the sheriff. Garcia was about to answer, but Connor plowed on, "It better be a way more evil son of a bitch than this scourge of wild hogs!"

"No dissing!" Hellboy's disembodied interruption prompted the Texans to sweep suspicious glances about the room.

"What's that?" questioned Walker.

"New Jersey yank, number 7," came the defiant reply, in an ominously rumbling baritone.

"Whatever that is," steamed the flustered sheriff, "keep it away from decent, God-fearing folks!"

Abe stood by, wide-eyed, as Hellboy fairly roared back, "What needs to fear me, ain't folks!"

Then the half-demon pulled back his volume to point out, "Garcia, you have goldfish-mouth. Talk to the dummy."

Phillips wiped at his smile with one hand. "Austin, go home," he said tiredly. "You're done preachin'." He waited until Connor was well out the door to chuckle, "The sheriff 's all hat."

Eight yankee brains puzzled over whether this was pertinent information. Phillips went on, "I'm tellin' you that one of our most respected pastors got this ball rollin'."

Walker looked up from a photo in his hand, passed it to Malloy. "Number 7 sounds like a real pistol. Now, y'all are lookin' at an invasive species with no natural enemies, good breeders, covers this state and is spreadin' out faster than any legal methods can manage. Boars can get three feet tall, weigh up to four hundred pounds. They've got no fear and will butcher up anything they can run down. They pretty much tore up this state park, but when they started runnin' the towns, we evacuated our children. Gangs of hunters are on 24 hour patrol."

Garcia carefully considered Walker's information. "Something else – your hospital-"

"Is in Pittsburgh," Phillips picked up, "twenty minutes out of Daingerfield. Got it covered. My wife Donna is a nurse practitioner. She set up a staffed emergency clinic in the next-door lodge."

"Mmm, pretty nurses." Hellboy's much friendlier tone floated over the table.

"You have ten more minutes to hear me out," said Walker, "then we go on a recon in the park."

The outgoing convoy was made up of Walker and Phillips riding all-terrain vehicles, their carbines slung over their backs, leading the agents' trucks to a park entrance well marked with signs. No Entry. No Hunting.

"Dammit!" Brett Walker exploded, "the gate is busted down!" He pulled out a two-way, into which he hollered, "Who's gone in the park?!"

In a few minutes, came an answer. "Me, Brett."

"Buster Nix! Cain't you read? Come on out of there!"

"We killed a hog," returned the voice.

"One hog! The only reason you ain't skinned is, they don't feel like it right now! Listen to me, get back to town where I need you, or you're off the payroll!"

"Gimme an hour," retorted Nix.

Walker hurled his cap to the ground, then looked straight at Garcia, "You packin'?"

"Nine-mil," answered the agent.

"Jump on."

Beckoned by Phillips, Bell took a seat behind him. Two ATV's roared off into the park.

Abe and Hellboy, taking a break from cover, stretched cramped limbs and paced.

"Malloy, what do you hear?" Red asked impatiently after nearly ten minutes ticked by.

"Three of the Nix party is hurt. Bell's driving out one of their trucks, with ferals in pursuit. Lots of shooting. Here they come!"

It was a chilling sight – a hunter's roll-barred truck leading at desperate speed, Bell straining at the wheel to steer away from smashing into the agents' parked vehicle. Hellboy gripped the rear bumper, dragging it clear. Abe sprang to open a door for them on the hidden side.

Both ATV's roared into view with passengers facing rear and firing wild, drivers fighting to brake to an upright stop. Battered by the pounding ride, four men dropped to the ground. Garcia stayed down while the others limped to their injured neighbours, groaning in the hunter's truck. A young woman softly sobbed, cradling a dead pursuit hound in her lap.

"This is on you, Buster," snapped Walker. "Your whole family might coulda been killed. Get them to the Bass. Donna will take good care of them."

Malloy pressured the bloody sleeve of Garcia's jacket. Carter helped lift him. "You're slashed and all sprayed with dirt. We're taking you to the hospital."


	3. A Lion Awaits

Hellboy was alone and quiet in his darkened room, stretched out on his king bed. He gave some thought to turning on his TV.

It came at first, as only a whisper.

"_Favourite Son"..._

Uh-uh. Hellboy conjured for himself the image of a magnificent lion in its prime, just because it pleased him to picture the alpha predator's black lips lifted high to display gleaming carnivore fangs and incisors, muzzle wrinkled tightly back with deadly intent, and golden eyes fixing doom on its target. This visage of supremely confident strength was crowned by the rich, off-standing black mane that drew the females to his seek his courtship.

"_You prepare for yet another mission to benefit the human stain."_

Hellboy's lion gathered its hindquarters, perfect corded muscles softly crawling along its back, readying them to release energy for a headlong rush at its command.

"_Of highest import, Son, I know best of your desires – dynamism, purpose, and a love to stand by your side."_

The lion switched the black tuft of its tail in anticipation, padded paws flexing, claws extending to grip the ground.

"_You have not what the glory of your destiny dictates. You remain a pauper, unbefitting the station to which you were born."_

The lion kneaded the ground beneath its belly, almost imperceptibly rocking its haunches and shoulders with building excitement.

"_More than you have ever imagined, I will bestow..."_

The razor points of curved claws stretched forth to rigidly anchor. Rearing back, the great cat twitched its whiskers and powered its agile mass high, releasing the might of tensely bunched thighs. Glittering eyes and jaws open at their widest, radiated the lion's most intense certainty in the endurance of its massive strength.

Hellboy's own golden eyes mirrored the ferocity as he victory-punched, high and hard in the darkness, with his stone hand.

He shot a glance towards Abe Sapien's door, to verify that he had not been disturbed. When finally he gave address to the dread messenger, Hellboy growled low, "Old man, you've got nothing but noise."

Welcome sleep was about to overtake. Settling back, Hellboy smiled. "Cats – I love 'em."

Digging into breakfast too early in the morning, Hellboy said, "Not that I'm complaining, but lucky for us that Rick flies better than he cooks."

"My breakfast tastes like it always does," answered Abe, munching his favourite rotten eggs at the farthest off point in the room.

Hellboy frowned and fidgeted for half a minute, then looked over at Abe, who appeared to be waiting for him to speak.

"Last night was good."

"I'm glad to hear it, Red."

"I-uh, got some buzz, same old song, but – not as angry."

"What did you do?" asked his interested friend.

"This is really corny, and kind of zen," admitted Hellboy sheepishly, "but I took my head to a happy place."

"It was the first thing that occurred to you?"

"Slipped into it like – never mind," Hellboy discarded the crude simile he'd been about to apply. "What stuck with me is that he's less. He lost some drive. He's – worn out!" Facing Abe with a lightbulb expression, he wonderingly asked, "Can a full demon wear out?"

"You tell_ me._" Then Abe grew thoughtful. "There are certainly examples throughout demon lore which suggest that not every obstacle can be overcome, but isn't this true for any being?"

"Shielding myself the way I did," said Hellboy, "could be a one time fix."

"But it was purely instinctive, and you took away the knowledge that he seems, as you described, worn out. Our entire purpose is to create innovative defences when our world faces threats never before seen or imagined. A defence could be as simple as an effective thought process, could be anything that we ourselves can't see until we know the enemy."

"So, believe in my gut instinct?" deduced Hellboy.

"Most assuredly, yes!"

Hellboy nodded to his wise friend and picked up his satellite phone.

"My gut is saying that Pop needs to hear from me."


	4. Phone Home

"Good morning to you, Manning," said Hellboy into his satellite phone, "Could be you don't know as much as you think about Texans."

"So?" returned the director, "Is there a problem?"

"Outside this lodge is the prettiest collection of modified all-terrain trucks, firepower, geared-up hunters – and more on the way," informed the boss' most wayward demon agent.

"No, no, no, no, no!" tumbled out of Tom Manning, suddenly struck with chills of misery.

"Manning, these folks love the chase, love the hunt. They know what they're doing. This is their county, and they won't be shut out from protecting it."

"So you're out – again?!"

Hellboy, grinning, was pretty sure he'd heard Manning smack his own forehead.

"It just kind of happened. Now we have an army."

"Hellboy - do you know what you've done?!"

"Hey, this ain't Jersey! So stay put, will ya, city boy?"

"Are you saying," Manning demanded, "that you have a militia of civilians on this mission?"

"And lots of dogs – can't forget the dogs." With that, Hellboy left the director hanging.

Agent Garcia tramped down the rustic staircase to meet Red in the vacant lodge reception foyer.

"How do you like your room?" the demon asked cordially.

"Great. This whole place is ours." Garcia clipped his sat-phone to his belt. "Manning just called. He's not happy."

"Yeah, well – he didn't like my update. He's supposed to be as studied up on this as we are."

"I'm gonna have my ass handed to me when I get back, Red," Garcia fumed. "You should have at least told him that nobody unauthorized has clapped eyes on you and Abe."

"I told my father." Hellboy threw back, refusing to accept reproach.

"Fine. Be a good son. But the professor won't praise you for getting Manning lathered up."

"We go out all covered up like we're supposed to. My truck windows are blacked out. The rest of the time, we're cabin fevered in our rooms. For that, I deserve a little fun."

"Abe doesn't seem to need a little fun," Garcia pointed out sourly, "and it's only been 30 hours!"

"Did you see those hog hunters in action?" Hellboy asked, wanting to change the subject.

"It was a hell of a shooting show before it all went south. Walker war-cried, 'Let's dance!' and we were so up close and personal to the hogs, we just tossed the gored Nix family into their truck and booted out of there. We couldn't save their dogs." Garcia checked the bleeding-through bandage wrapping his forearm. "Picking off individuals in wide tracts of habitat can't work anymore. Now these hogs don't run away - they attack in mobs like they learned tactics."

"And they can take over any space they want by sheer numbers and aggression," added Red. Blasting them down hardly makes a dent."

"You've figured a strategy?"

"Blue and I have to get inside their heads. Why did they turn?"

"Remember," cautioned Garcia, "You two can't afford to get hurt. I'm heading to Donna Phillips' clinic for a dressing change."

"Unique agents will be in the field before that."

"I'll join you as soon as I can. For crissakes, be careful!"

Hellboy entered his ground floor suite and found Abe's adjoining door open.

"Blue!" he hailed. "Having a swim?"

"Adequately," came the answer from Abe's tank.

"Get on your turn-of-the century cloak. We're going out. I'm waiting for Bell to give the all clear out back."

With agent Bell at the wheel, the small BPRD team headed out to their appointed area.

"Carter, what did you think of Walker's lecture on local wildlife?" Red wanted to know.

"He was having his fun with us dumb city yankees, that's what I think. All clear on the hogs from hell. But the small stuff – grisly. I don't need to be watching my feet for thousands of fire ants on this mission."

"Yes, I remember his exact words," Abe interjected. "They swarm and bite hard enough to stampede cattle, kill deer, and are like to drive you out of your mind."

"Don't forget the rattlesnakes," reminded Bell.

"And the tanks are full of blood-sucking leeches, snakes and snapping turtles," finished Red.

"Tanks?" everybody asked at once.

"Ponds. Local term."

"The appeal of diving is now lost for me," Abe opined, looking ill.

"Here's the place," Red announced. The team left their vehicles and looked over the cedar-choked terrain. "See? Thousands of bullet casings from the National Guard disaster. The ferals have great dense cover and vehicles can't cut through."

"There's no ground that isn't gouged deep," observed agent Malloy. "and those uprooted trees look bulldozed. Where do the big carcasses go?"

"They're said to have been consuming their dead," answered Abe, "Rather efficient, I'd say. What is that smell?!"

"Slow," Hellboy directed in a low, calm tone. "Get back in the trucks. I won't risk you here."

He stared at the foliage, from where came several black hogs, sedately walking toward the men. More gathered, clustering together without bolting or chaos, until they stood sixty strong, regarding the men with chilling contemplation and eyes of preternatural burning intelligence. None crossed the distance to close with the vulnerable team. They snorted and huffed through elongated snouts armed with long, yellowed tusks.

"Red!" Abe whispered, "They don't know what to make of you! They're confused!"

"Bein' ugly finally pays off," breathed Hellboy, showing the ferals his fiercest scowl.

With unified purpose, the hogs turned to filter back through the ground cover until not one could be seen.

Garcia's vehicle pulled up. Checking over the agents, he was mystified to see sweaty faces shaking off stunned expressions. "What happened here?"

"Not much," answered Hellboy, "Didn't fire a shot. Nobody's touched."

"If we had fired one," offered agent Carter, "it could have been total bloodbath for us ordinary beings. The hogs are afraid of Red!"

All eyes on him, Hellboy sighed, "It's not that easy. Let's leave and I'll explain."

The agents gathered in Red's room and popped open proffered cans of beer, eyes expectant on their host.

"Guys," Red tightened his jaw, searching for words, "I could have a big personal problem here.

A hell-region, historical problem. I mean, whatever you see happen to me, stay clear."

"You gotta give us more than that, Red," Malloy insisted.

Hellboy sighed and relented, "I might never be free of him. My demon sire. I believe he's influencing this invasion. It's up to me to find his weakness and drill him back to his own dimension."

After a moment, Garcia said decisively, "We can't accept staying clear of you."

A round of nodding heads confirmed group agreement.

"You've seen the gangs of hog hunters camping out in the parking lot. I need you to keep them from charging in until I've finished – what I have to do. The supernatural hordes can cut them to pieces in minutes, but it only gets the hunters more eager. Can you accept that?" Hellboy had made his decision and now searched the faces.

"We'll make it work." Garcia raised his beer to the agents, who followed suit.

"Day two, with daylight to burn," Hellboy announced. "Abe and I are going back."


	5. Demon Breaker

"Hey, we're back!" Hellboy called out over the brushy terrain. "Coming out to see us?"

"You're sounding rather disappointed, Red", remarked Abe.

"I hear something. Look, they're just little ones!"

A litter of weanling hogs scampered between the agents. Hellboy scooped one up, held it high and peered into its baby face.

"This one is kinda cute," he told Abe, while the smooth-bodied weanling squealed and wriggled furiously in his hands.

"Ugly! Keep under the porch!" the little one sassed. Red and Abe heard it clearly.

"Incredible," observed Abe.

"Let the child go." The authoritative demand snapped the agents' heads to the new speaker. Hellboy cursed himself for his breach of attention. Just an arm's length from a three hundred pound black boar, Hellboy set the piglet down. He scanned around quickly for gathering herds of ferals. They awaited, staying back and silent.

"Only we," the boar began firmly, "improve our invincible perfection. We take what we please from Man, and this will never end. Your kind, Demon, will fail in your attempt to control us."

Sensing a wonderful opportunity, Abe spread his webbed hands before the sentient eyes of the possessed feral creature.

"Boar," he saluted, "I am not a demon, and I would better understand you. May I touch you?"

"My nature is my pride and survival," was the sneered reply. "Touch me, but at your peril."

Hellboy seized the boar's curved snout in his stone hand, clamping down his fingers to secure shut the fearsome jaws.

"This is _**my**_ touch, Porky!" he growled, "and he's my friend! He won't hurt you, so lighten up!"

Surprisingly, the boar's inner voice answered only, "Hurry!"

Applying his palm to the heavily calloused and bristly shoulder of the creature, Abe relayed to Hellboy, "They refuse to be minions! Through their high intelligence, they've learned to use each member of their vast population to strain and fragment the very power that possessed them to band unnaturally into armies." Abe struggled to contain his excitement at the discovery. "This animal, and all the rest, may break that power and revert to themselves at any moment!" Reading further, Abe revealed, "We will remain what we have been from antiquity. Let Men do what Men do. If thousands of us are sacrificed this day, it will make no diff-"

Abe gasped, breaking away as the great boar lurched upward against Hellboy's restraining hand. It squealed piercingly, champing its slavering tusked jaws in threat display, then wheeled to escape, joining the hundreds disappearing into the cover of cedar thicket and beyond.

"His Dark Highness bit off too much," Hellboy snarled with satisfaction. "Choke on it!"

"The citizens won't be held off much longer," reminded Abe.

Hellboy keyed his locator. "Red to Garcia. Let 'em loose!"

The far-off approaching cacophony of whoops and hollers, revving engines, celebratory gunfire, baying and yipping of excited dogs, was growing louder.

"Status quo restored," Hellboy pronounced. "It's their party." He tapped Abe's shoulder. "Great work, Brother! I'm all for taking a fast ride to the lodge."

"Yes, Red. Let's leave the war zone behind us." Abe gratefully climbed into the passenger seat. "And be sure to wash our hands."


	6. Party Like a Texan

Agent Carter leaned back in his verandah chair, seated next to Cord Phillips. The two enjoyed

early evening drinks while surveying the activities taking shape on the lodge parking lot.

"After most of the day chasing hogs through the bushes, all these hunters have energy left to celebrate?" Carter enquired, impressed.

"Yep. Pumped on adrenaline. Seems we'll need three bulldozers out to scrape up and bury those hundreds of dead hogs," informed Cord, "Plus, a crew like yours doesn't come to town every day."

"Man, I'd want to see this party, but we're set to leave right after debriefing."

"And your two special agents we never saw – do they ever get a good time?"

"Well," Carter answered slowly, "One likes his beer, and can sometimes lead the other one astray, but those guys are the job."

"They had no quit in them. Morris County wants them to know, we give thanks every minute, even if we can't know how the hell they did it. It kinda, y' know, leaves a funny hole in the prayers?" Phillips' earnest gaze belied the sense of humour always ready to break out.

"Is everyone satisfied with the results?"

"Damn straight," grinned Phillips, "nothing left but we handle the cleanup."

"Our 'crew' is plenty honoured with that," concluded Carter. "Anybody get hurt today?"

"Just the usual in their business – cutter slashed, kicked and stomped, twisted knees, poison ivy, some minor hits by friendly fire. The medics are on it." He gestured to the parking lot. "Soon as the dogs get fed and bedded down, just wait 'n see! I might could talk you into it."

First, the burning barrels were placed and fired up. Ice chests and BBQ's were set out on the tailgates of pickup trucks. Soon after, the guitars came out. The ensuing laughter and camaraderie were too infectious to ignore, along with the aroma of grilling meat.

A pair of female hunters cajoled Carter and Phillips to come down from the verandah to join the party. "You know, we need the porch for the band, Darlin', so you got to clear out."

The band plugged in, tuned up and slid into their songs with smiling ease and natural stage presence. Couples poured onto the paving to dance it up, energetically, romantically – as the music dictated. Someone from the crowd regularly took to the stage to join the performing.

"They're pretty good," Carter complimented, "Recording good."

"Pickin' and singin'", laughed Phillips, "just a little less socially important in these parts than ball. Football," he clarified, tipping up his beer.

In his lodge room, Hellboy stood up from his couch, restless. "I've got a mind to see what's going on out there. Sounds like fun."

"It does," agreed Abe, "but Red..."

"Don't worry," Hellboy grabbed his hooded cloak. "I found a basement room with front-facing windows. Come on."

The sequestered agents enjoyed a ground-level view of the parking lot festivities.

"Lively bunch", remarked Hellboy.

"They're celebrating slaughter," Abe appraised, with a little sadness.

"It _was_ pretty drastic," Hellboy admitted. "Do you feel that way because you made the telepathic connection with Boss Hawg?"

"He wouldn't be other than what he chose. There was a nobility in him."

"Maybe he was smart enough to survive," Hellboy said, mindful of Abe's sensitivity, "He might keep some of your connection in his memory, too."

"Now that he's again a true to nature feral creature, Red," proposed the merman, "would he welcome even a bit of his brain-space being occupied by me?"

"Good point, Brother."

Hellboy resumed looking out his window. "On the other hand, this county feels saved. We didn't lose an agent. Garcia will heal, Pop is happy, Manning is good with it."

"And you?" Abe asked.

Hellboy frowned solemnly. "I know those ferals got rid of my problem, and theirs, without any help from me. They were damned sure of themselves. Who would have known?"

Abe Sapien nodded sagely, "And now we do."

"Hey, there's Malloy!" Hellboy burst out, "dancing with that gal in cowboy boots. Should I tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

"That he dances like a monkey on a hot plate."

As much as Abe could laugh, he did.

"Do you see Carter? His dance partner is trying to hold him up. Man, is he wasted! She looks strong."

"Spying is rather an entertaining way to kill our boredom," said Abe, "I believe the debriefing will have to wait until we arrive home."

"I shoulda left a note in my room," muttered Red.

"Agents Bell and Garcia are not searching for us," Abe pointed out. "They've just been served plates of food at the rear of that pickup truck."

"Nice. Have you seen our pilots out there?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"The live country band is standing right over our heads, huh?"

"It would seem to be."

"Blue, the piglet called it. We're under the porch!"


End file.
